Ghosts
by Ame no Hime
Summary: Mikoto and Nozomu face the ghost of their past and their feelings for each other. Itoshikicest.


Mikoto stares at his rain-soaked brother as if he is looking at a ghost.

His black hair is plastered to his face, making him appear younger and even more vulnerable than normally. Nozomu's eyes are almost impossible to make out behind the water-smeared, raindrop-blotched glasses.

"Nozomu. What happened to you?"

He barely lifts his head, and water drops from his nose. The sound of feet shuffling over the floor coming from the hallway makes Mikoto act; he takes Nozomu's wrist that is just as cold and wet as the rest of him and pulls him forward, beckoning him to come into Mikoto's flat.

"I wanted to visit you." Nozomu says quietly, and kneels down to step out of his shoes and pull off his wet socks.

Mikoto freezes. Never before had Nozomu come to visit him at his place, and the last time they had seen each other had been on New Year's Eve, a few months ago, on the regular family gathering. He senses something is _off_ now, an unsettling feeling as if he is walking on quicksand.

"You should have waited somewhere dry for the rain to stop." Mikoto murmurs, taking Nozomu's haori from him that is now dark and heavy from the rain. "I would never have arrived here, then." Nozomu answers, and Mikoto feel stupid for not having noticed that the rain hasn't stopped for hours now and still continues its merry dance against the windows.

Nozomu is merely in his underwear now, and Mikoto takes his soaked clothing to the laundry dryer that is standing in the bathroom without looking at him, trying to give him a bit of privacy even though they are siblings. He doesn't know where he and Nozomu stood, especially since that one night many years ago, the night before he had moved away from their hometown to study medicine at a university in Tokio ... Mikoto swallows hard and tries in vain to keep the blush from creeping into his cheeks. _Could it be that he ...?_

This feeling that there's a possibility he knows he shouldn't be seeking for. The feeling as if every step could lead to disaster.

It is then that he hears Nozomu open the door to his bedroom; "Could I borrow a shirt from you?" he asks, voice neutral and calm, giving Mikoto too much space for interpretation. He switches on the laundry drier and follows his brother into his bedroom with quick strides, praying Nozomu doesn't notice how his hands are shaking slightly as he hands him a T-Shirt that is slightly too small for him, and should fit Nozomu halfway. Thanking him, Nozomu pulls it over his head, and Mikoto realizes his hair is still wet. "Do you want a towel?" Mikoto asks; "You might catch a cold."

And then Nozomu looks up at him, squinting slightly because he has discarded his glasses; "Aren't you the best person to be around, then? Since you're a doctor ..." and Nozomu _smiles_ at him, a small, lost smile that is strangely fragile and still _(or because of that?)_ sincere because he is sure Nozomu can't see Mikoto's face like this. His eyesight is even worse than his own after all.

"I guess ..." Mikoto trails off and turns around, trying desperately to ignore the tightening feeling in his chest that Nozomu's shy smile evoked, the way every breath he takes doesn't seem to reach his lungs at all. His heart aches as it pumps a needy kind of longing through his vains that he had hoped to have choked to death long ago.

And then, then, it finally comes crushing down on him as he feels slender arms wrap around his body from the behind, holding him firmly.

"I ..."

Mikoto thinks he's about the break as he hears a heart-wrenching sob erupt from Nozomu's throat.

"I never forgot about that time ..." his brother's voice is thin and trembles in the stale air like a leaf in fall that can barely hold on to the branch it stems from. "I ... was never able to forget that time when ..."

And he stops then, and buries his face in Mikoto's back, crying, crying so hard that Mikoto can feel his chest and his stomach heaving and trembling against his back. "You hate me, don't you?" the words are almost lost as Nozomu hides his face in the material of Mikoto's shirt again.

Mikoto pries off Nozomu's arms that are still clinging to him, and Nozomu instinctively steps away from him, afraid of having angered his older brother. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Nozomu holds his hands in front of his face as if to defend himself, and Mikoto is startled that Nozomu thinks he would hit him. Instead, he grabs Nozomu's hand and stares into his screwed-up, red face that is wet with tears. Nozomu looks like a small child like this, snifling, lips trembling.

"Nozomu." Mikoto whispers, as if he's afraid of scaring his brother away. He steps forward, pushes him to the bed behind them without effort.

There is so much Mikoto would like to tell him now, tell him how he could never hate him for something that he is guilty of feeling too, how he is feeling just as lost and scared as him, but all he can do is hold Nozomu by his shoulders and kiss him firmly, pressing his mouth to Nozomu's chapped salty lips. They taste like regret, like sadness.

Nozomu shivers under him, no doubt ready to start crying again. He pushes Mikoto away slightly, eyes already filling with tears again; "Please don't pity me-" he whispers, pressing his lips together as if he wants to keep himself from saying any more. "You will only make it more painful."

Mikoto narrows his eyes, and asks calmly; "What did you come here for, then?"

For a few moments, only the sound of Nozomu's harsh breathing can be heard.

"I wanted you to end it."

Mikoto continues staring at him.

"I don't believe you." Nozomu's eyes flash shortly, and Mikoto can't determine whether it's irritation, helplessness or maybe _hope_? Sudden anger flares in Mikoto, anger about himself but also about his brother who still refuses to admit to what he himself has wanted all along, who still tries to back away at the very last moment.

But the most, he hates himself for having planted a seed inside Nozomu's heart and being unable to water the flower that grew from it - that pitiful plant that was now wimpy, barely able to survive.

"Don't ..." Mikoto presses, his throat feeling too tight for the words he tries so desperately to let out; "Don't think you're the only one whose life is difficult."

Nozomu's gaze softens, then, and Mikoto can see understanding dawning in them, fragile and thin like morning dew on a still shadowy meadow. Mikoto's body feels heavy, so unbelievably heavy, as if the secret desire he has been carrying for so many lonely years is finally getting the better of him, and presses him down onto the bed, with his brother inbetween.

Their bodies align perfectly, although Nozomu is shorter and more slim than him - Mikoto wonders if he isn't crushing him beneath him, but is too caught up in the feeling of their warm bodies against each other to say anything.

Silence fills the room to the rim, and Mikoto feels as though nobody but him can hear his brother softly exhale each breath he takes. Not the dust in the air, not the ceiling, not even the sheets that are lying under them, crumpled.

Nozomu starts stroking Mikoto's hair with one hand, the other one resting on his lower back.

Mikoto thinks that their roles have suddenly been reversed, feels as though _he_ is the weak one, feels ashamed that Nozomu had to come to him and search _him_ out, even though he is the younger one. He feels as though he has failed Nozomu, disappointed him. What a lousy brother he is.

Swallowing the lump of guilt that again threatens to form in his throat, he turns his head to the side and nuzzles Nozomu's throat. He can feel his brother's softly thudding pulse against the side of his face and is grateful, so incredibly grateful to hear him breathing so close to him, to have him alive and growing warmer with each minute that passes.

"Hey. Mikoto."

"Mmh."

"Will you take me away?"

A short flash of the past, of their youth, of nursery rhymes and nights spent together, the younger one cuddled up in the older's blankets, slumbering peacefully. The gentle hue of the moon illuminating the smaller one's sleeping face, painting its curves silver.

"Wherever you want to."

And now it's Nozomu who shifts until their noses brush, and Mikoto closes his eyes instinctively. "Thank you." he hears Nozomu breathe before he leans in to kiss Mikoto a bit clumsily but _warmly_.

The dim light of the gray sky has faded like a secretive servant that silently leaves the room in exchange for the privacy of rustling clothing, warm hands on bare skin and breathy sighs ghosting through the otherwise stale air. Mikoto hands stroke and tickle in places that are normally hidden carefully out of shame, make his breath hitch, make his back arch upwards almost painfully. It doesn't take long at all until Nozomu is exhausted, the emotions that had been building up for years discharge in a mere blink of an eye.

Exhausted, he returns the favor to his brother, despite all protests.

With the slightly awkward but unavoidable ghost between them sated, they lie in bed together, basking in a shared afterglow, minds pleasantly blank. Now, nothing outside their bed exists. Reality is not yet knocking at the door.

Their long, pale fingers entertwined in reminiscence of a shared childhood, shared days and nights of dreams and hopes, two sets of fingers that have now, finally after so many years, found each other again.

"But for now I want to stay here."

Nozomu squeezes his hand softly.

A beeping sound can be heard from further inside the flat. The dryer is done.

End.


End file.
